


Peace-Weaver

by thepopeisdope



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel (Supernatural), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Injured Dean, King Castiel, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Dean, Prince Dean, Sharing a Bed, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-03-03 05:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13334760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepopeisdope/pseuds/thepopeisdope
Summary: Castiel may be of age, a man grown, but without an omega at his side, without someone to wear Eden’srealcrown, he doesn’t stand a chance. He was trained to be a fighter and made to expect to rear children while his future mate ran the kingdom; it was never expected that he would rule on his own.Now there's a wounded omega in his father's old cabin, a war on the horizon, and no hope of a happy ending with either.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When I initially set out to write a Thing, my thought was for it to be a ~5k mafia fic. What did I get instead? This. (But I love it and have no regrets)
> 
> [Emma](http://saltnhalo.tumblr.com/): Happy birthday, you jackass. Remember when you were harassing me and I was busy? I was. Very busy. Let's just say it's a miracle I got this done in time for your birthday (even if that is going by American timezones, I'll fight you). Consider this a pledge of my love, and congrats on being a year older. <3 
> 
> You'll get part two.... eventually. 0_0

"Your majesty?”

Castiel hums, but doesn’t look up from his book. It’s not actually all that engaging, but it’s certainly easy to pretend that it is.

“Your majesty, are you even listening to me?”

The condescending tone that laces those words is what finally gets the king to look up, his eyes immediately locking on those of his advisor with a sharp glare. He _had_ been listening, as a matter of fact—he heard every word of Metatron’s drabble about the tenuousness of his position, the need to marry sooner than later, the swelling rumors of a war being started against him by the kingdom to the north. He heard it all.

He just doesn’t _care_.

Except, that’s not quite true. Castiel cares about his position, and he cares about the safety of his kingdom, but he doesn’t care for the pitch Metatron is giving that, in essence, is a sly ruse designed to get the king to agree to marry his advisor’s daughter.

Metatron isn’t the first to try such a thing, nor will he be the last. He will also not be the last to fail.

Castiel may be an unmarried alpha king, but no matter how incompetent to rule the people of the land might think him, both in his kingdom and beyond it, he has no intentions of giving into the clever puppeteers trying to tie their strings to him. An alpha he may be, but no matter the reputation that precedes his gender, he is not going to be pliant. He is not going to let his lack of omega intelligence doom his kingdom, and his family’s legacy.

After all, the kingdom did not ask for their true leaders to be killed.

Castiel stands and tosses his now-closed book onto the desk. “You are dismissed, Metatron. I have a prior engagement; if you’ll excuse me.”

He ignores Metatron’s offended stuttering as he leaves the study, striding out of the room without a backwards glance. The guards posted at the door will ensure Metatron exits after him in a timely manner, even if his advisor somehow worked up the gall to make use of the king’s study for personal gain, the guards would prohibit him.

Metatron is a slimy beta who cannot be trusted, but the members of the guard are alpha through and through, and loyal to a fault. He will always be thankful for that.

That being said, it is remarkably easy for Castiel to get away from the guards’ ever-vigilant views and slip off into the woods on his horse, unseen. He left only a word with his stable master to let the message be passed along that he would return in a day or two, but doesn’t bother giving anyone any more than that. He doesn’t want to be followed, and he certainly doesn’t want to be criticized.

Even just the journey out through the woods does wonders to boost Castiel’s spirits, as it always does. The distance from the castle may not truly relieve him of his problems, but having the space to think, to _breathe_ , more than makes it worth his effort.

He only wishes that he had something to think about other than his troubles, when he takes these sorts of breaks.

However, given the fact that everything Castiel ever knew came crumbling down when his parents died, he supposes a bit of stress over his fate is one of the better things he could have asked for.

Considering his parents’ importance, it was never much of a surprise that his world crumbled as completely as it did. Any time a kingdom loses its queen and king, there are bound to be repercussions, just as there have been every day of the year that has passed since that wretched shipwreck. There will always be desperate bids for power, in situations such as this one, will always be crimes against the crown even while that crown is shrouded in a mourning veil. And most importantly of all, there will always be attempts to exploit the heirs to the throne.

Or in Castiel’s case, _heir_. Singular.

He always knew his position was tenuous—as the lone, unwed child of Naomi and Cain Novak, his chances of exploitation were always particularly high. The kingdom of Eden may not be the largest, but it has a long history of wealth and strength, situated on land rich with resources and very nearly impenetrable, thanks to its mountainous border. The long, unbroken line of strong, omega rulers who have sat on the throne for more consecutive generations than any other royal family in the land has also attributed to Eden’s reputation, giving it an edge that has done a great deal to prevent people from taking advantage of the Novaks’ power.

Even before the shipwreck, it was widely considered to be a tragedy that the renowned Naomi Novak left only an alpha son as her heir.

The day Castiel had presented alpha had been one of the worst of his life. There had been complications with his birth which had left his mother unable to conceive more children after him, eliminating the possibility of younger siblings to help carry on the Novak line. Both of his parents had hoped he would present omega, had been sure that it would happen—he was so very similar to his mother, after all—but shortly before his fifteenth birthday, it became clear that he wasn’t similar enough to her. His genetics favored brawn over brain, as evidenced by the rut he fell into, and he had never seen his mother more disappointed in all his life. His lessons of regality and leadership fell to the wayside, and a sword was shoved into his hands the minute he was back on his feet.

That was the first time his world had crumbled.

Now, looking back, he isn’t sure which instance is worse. Naomi’s disappointment in him was always a sore point, and their relationship never quite recovered, but at least she was _there_. She and his father both.

Castiel constantly spends his time wishing that things were different. He’d been too shell-shocked for the first week or so after the news reached him that his parents’ ship never reached its destination across the sea to properly react, but when the day came for his coronation—a rushed, harried affair, put together only once the reality of Naomi and Cain’s death became unavoidable and unease over a lack of proper ruler began to fester—it hit him in full. When the head priest lowered Cain’s former crown onto Castiel’s head at the end of the ceremony, he was overwhelmed with dread, instead of the pride that his mother always spoke of.

He wished he could have been the omega his mother wanted. He wished she hadn’t died while still dissatisfied with him. He wished that her last living thought couldn’t have possibly been regret over the inevitable end of her family’s legacy.

Castiel may be of age, a man grown, but without an omega at his side, without someone to wear Eden’s _real_ crown, he doesn’t stand a chance. He was trained to be a fighter and made to expect to rear children while his future mate ran the kingdom; it was never expected that he would rule on his own, and his lack of education on the subject reflects that. What little teaching his parents drip-fed him before he presented covered the basics of the kingdom’s workings, but while that can keep him afloat, it won’t do so indefinitely.  

From the moment Castiel knelt in the church and rose as a king, the members of his newly-inherited court were ogling the dull bronze of his alpha crown. For that very reason, he hardly wears the thing. It sits too heavily on his brow, draws all the wrong kind of eyes. It makes him look more like the stand-in that he is, instead of the ruler he should be.

It’s all so draining to think about.

And that, of course, is why he comes _here_ —a hunting cabin commissioned by Cain when he first came to Eden, and one of the man’s best-kept secrets. It’s near the border, almost dangerously so, but it’s quiet, private, and utterly devoid of people who need to be impressed. When Castiel finally rides into the clearing, the sight of the small house alone is enough to begin easing the tension that perpetually resides at his core.

Out here, there are no withering glares resentful of his crown, or greedy advisors angling to steal it for themselves. There is no need for him to hide parts of himself to fit the role he is expected to play because of his alpha designation.

He can be _himself_. And gods, does he love even that small freedom.

Castiel dismounts from his horse as soon as he has broken through the tree line, leaving the animal to wander for the time being, and makes his way up to the door of the familiar, stone cabin. Back at the castle, everything reminds him of his mother, but here? Everything about this place is Cain, from the overgrown garden situated between the cabin and the lake beyond, to the buzz of the bees the older alpha once regularly cared for, to the simplistic layout of the living space that awaits Castiel when he finally gets the cabin’s door open. He never spent much time here prior to his parents’ deaths, mostly only visiting when he was young and Naomi was too busy with her queenly duties for Castiel to even be near, but even still, the place feels like home in a way the empty castle never quite can.

He takes a few steps into the cabin and starts to disrobe—there’s no need for him to be wearing finery here at the cabin, as the silk of his tunic certainly is—but before he can even get his tunic halfway off, he hears a quick scuffle like that of footsteps, and the unmistakable sound of a closing door.

Castiel goes absolutely still. Even his breaths are silent as he listens, all of his senses straining as he attempts to pick out the cause of the sound or any indication of a repeat. When he hears nothing, he inhales deeply through his nose, then swears under his breath.

He hadn’t taken enough stock of the small cabin when he first entered, but doing so now, he cannot believe how much he failed to notice.

Someone else is already there.

There isn’t much to learn of the intruder from their residual scent alone, but it does provide just enough of a trail for Castiel to be able to find the person’s hiding place with ease. The bedroom door is closed; Castiel waits outside of it for only a moment before gently pushing it open. He’s still on high alert as he steps into the room. The intruder’s scent is more concentrated in here, though whether that’s because the source is nearby or because it’s woven into the sleep-rumpled bed, Castiel cannot yet determine.

He takes another cautious step into the room, and gets a dagger pressed to the underside of his jaw for his efforts.

“Make one wrong move and you’re dead,” a voice growls in his ear. “I don’t know what you were thinking, coming in here, but there’s nothing for you to gain, here.”

Castiel narrows his eyes, but despite the threat being levelled against him, he holds as still as he can. He isn’t in a mood to be murdered, even if he has a feeling he could put his training to use and overcome his attacker if need be. He isn’t so stupid as to underestimate a complete stranger.

He takes a breath, and his eyes go wide.

The man behind him is an omega.

Castiel tilts his chin up and slowly raises his hands in a show of innocence. “I bear you no ill-will. You are in my home; I didn’t know that you were here.”

“Your home?” the man repeats. “Fuck.” The dagger drops away from Castiel’s throat. “ _Fuck_. Figures that you come back _now_ , then. Just my luck.”

When the man withdraws, Castiel finally has the opportunity to turn and look at him. His breath nearly catches when he does; even for an omega, the stranger in his cabin is a beautiful one, with golden skin and bright, entrancing eyes. That isn’t, though, what truly gets the alpha’s attention.

“You’re hurt,” he says, rather dumbly. The omega is wearing a white undershirt bearing no coloring or affiliation to any house, but the plain white of the fabric makes the blood stain across his hip that much more obvious. Castiel raises his eyes back to the omega’s, and when he sees how guarded the man is, he doesn’t even have to think before offering, “There should be bandages here, if you will allow me to help you. A change of clothes, as well.”

The omega’s hand moves to hover over his wound, but even just from the way he doesn’t actually touch it, Castiel can tell that it’s serious. Without the defensive posture, too—though the omega is still clutching his dagger like a lifeline, and Castiel can’t quite blame him for that—it becomes obvious that he’s favoring his right leg over his left, and his weapon hand trembles.

“I’m in your home without permission, and yet you’d help me?” the omega asks. When Castiel nods, his eyes narrow and he asks, “Are you a noble?”

Castiel wets his lips. “Near enough. You may call me Cas.”

No one save his father has ever called him by the nickname, and he feels it’s appropriate to the location. Furthermore, though, it will help him to keep his identity to himself.

This strange omega does not need to know that the alpha whose home he invaded is the king of Eden. If he does not know on his own, then Castiel is not obligated to tell him, and would definitely prefer not to.

A few beats of silence pass between them before the omega nods. “Cas,” he repeats, testing the name on his tongue, “alright. I would appreciate your help. You can call me Dean.”

“Dean.” It’s a simple name, not quite befitting of a man who is clearly anything but plain himself, but thankfully Castiel manages to stop himself from saying just that. He inclines his head in the direction from which he just came, toward the cabin’s main living space. “If you’d like to sit at the table, I’ll go get water from the lake, and find the bandages when I return. I’m not a healer by any means, but I’m sure I’ll be able to help in some way, at least.”

Although he still seems hesitant, Dean nods again. “Thank you.”

Castiel answers him with a small smile. He might not know this omega or even have any specific reason to need to help him, but he’s in Castiel’s land and needs help, and that is justification enough in the alpha’s mind. He leaves the bedroom, trusting Dean to follow him out to the aforementioned table. “Sit, and take your shirt off so that I can get a proper look at your wound. I’ll be back in a moment.”

He does not delay in fetching the water that he promised to get, but once he’s outside, Castiel certainly does not hurry, either. He carries a container from the house out to the lake and lets it fill with crisp, clear water, then takes a few extra minutes to deal with his horse before finally making his way back up to the cabin. Only once he’s sure Dean has had the opportunity to leave, if he so desires, does Castiel go back inside.

Much to his surprise, Dean is sitting at the table with his shirt off.

It’s only when his shock at that fact has him stilling in place that Castiel realizes just how convinced he was that Dean was going to leave. He would have been sure of it.

Not that he’s complaining.

With his shirt removed, it’s easy to see just how hurt Dean is, and subsequently imagine how it must have happened. The cut in his side is deep and jagged—clearly the work of close-quarters situation with a sloppy opponent. Taken into consideration with the few other bruises littering Dean’s torso (wide and strong, more like an alpha’s body than an omega’s), and Castiel has no doubt that the omega was in a fight he wasn’t prepared for.

Castiel gets the rest of the materials he needs and then settles onto the stool next to the one Dean has already claimed, the bucket of water ready and waiting beside his foot. Dean holds himself stiffly, but aside from a minor, seemingly involuntary flinch when Castiel firsts touches a water-soaked strip of cloth to the torn flesh just below his ribs, he doesn’t object to the care he is being given. He simply grits his teeth and bears his way through it.

Castiel can’t help but be endeared by the silent show of strength.

He gets midway through bandaging the wound by the time Dean speaks.

“You always this nice to strangers, Cas?”

Castiel pauses and glances up at him. “Do you mean to harm me?”

Dean blinks. A crease forms at the center of his brow. “No.”

“And you came into this house because you needed a place to recover, did you not?”

“I did.”

Castiel smiles. “Then I don’t see why I shouldn’t be nice to you. You have done nothing wrong on my account. I came out here to escape the stress of my everyday life, and as far as I can see, this is distracting me just as well as gardening would.”

Dean doesn’t seem much less confused by that. “And… That’s _your_ alpha scent I can smell, right?”

“Are you asking me if I am an alpha?” Castiel sits up straighter, an eyebrow arching as he considers that. He’s never had his secondary gender questioned. He’s never been around anyone who didn’t _know_ , and who didn’t know what was intrinsically expected of him because of that. “Why do you not believe that I am?”

Dean stares at him for a moment longer, but ultimately shakes his head. “Nothing. Just—you mind finishing this up? I twisted my ankle up pretty good, so I think I’m gonna need your help with that next.”  

Castiel’s interest over the question of his gender has not subsided, but he has the good grace to let the subject pass. He nods as he returns to his task of wrapping the bandage around Dean’s middle, and finds another way to fill the air between them.

“What happened to you?” he asks, then for clarification when Dean merely blinks at him, “To lead you here, I mean. In this state. Considering the help I’m providing you, I believe a story is the least you can give me in return.”

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be, huh?” The words are flat, but when Castiel glances up to make sure he hasn’t actually offended his houseguest by asking such a question, he finds the ghost of a smile curling the omega’s lips. It highlights his natural beauty. “I guess it is the least I can do, isn’t it. You drive a hard bargain, Cas.”

Castiel shrugs. He’s actually hoping in large part to learn who Dean _is_ , where he came from, and he assumes that that will be easiest to glean by retracing the omega’s steps. He finishes with the main bandage and seals it off, then slides down onto the floor so that he can examine Dean’s ankle.

Dean makes an odd sound in the back of his throat, then pointedly clears it. Castiel’s gaze raises in time for him to see the omega wet his lips.

“I was, uh—on a trip. Long story short, I was fighting with my mom, and came to Eden a bit… hotheaded.”

Castiel runs his tongue along the front of his teeth. “Where are you from, if not Eden?”

From the way Dean hesitates, Castiel suspects he hadn’t meant to reveal his foreignness. He assesses the alpha knelt before him for a long moment, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, then seemingly comes to the conclusion that the truth is acceptable to share. Castiel can see the resolution of it in his eyes before he finally pulls Dean’s pant leg up to examine his (very swollen) ankle, an excuse for the king to keep his own reactions from being just as easily read.

“I’m from Campbell,” Dean confesses. Castiel forces himself to nod; he cannot be sure whether it is a good or bad thing that Dean is only from just across the border. The omega continues while Castiel prods at his ankle, “My point, though, was that I was hot-headed when I left, so I wasn’t on my guard. I was jumped by a group of bandits just as I got to Eden’s border. I held my own for a bit, took a few out, but in the end, I was too outnumbered. I wasn’t going to beat them all. I ran, lost them in the woods, and was just about to pass out from blood loss or exhaustion or both when I found your house. Walls, a roof, and a clean bed are probably the only reasons I survived.” Dean clears his throat, the sweet, vanilla undertone of his scent momentarily spiking in what Castiel thinks is embarrassment before he tacks on, “Thank you for that, by the way.”

For the span of a few heartbeats, Castiel is struck silent. There is so much information in that for him to process, and the density of it keeps him from finding his tongue right away. Dean being from Campbell doesn’t tell him much. He hasn’t had any contact with the ruling family since his coronation, and knows little about them besides. He has been too busy with local affairs since his parents’ deaths to have time for such extraneous knowledge.

It is, however, interesting to know that Dean was able to fight off even some of his attackers when he was ambushed. While it explains the wounds Dean took on, omegas don’t tend to be fighters.

Now Castiel _really_ wants to know where Dean came from.

“You’re welcome,” he eventually says back to the other man. Then, before the opportunity to ask can escape him, “Why were you coming to Eden?”

“I was…” Dean pauses, his previous hesitation returning. Castiel is too occupied with applying a tight wrap to the omega’s swollen ankle to look up and assess him this time—and he’s too silently pleased by the lack of pain he seems to be causing to disrupt the flow they’ve fallen into—but a few seconds of patience pay off, and Dean answers him without prompting. “There’s rumor that King Lucifer asked Queen Mary for assistance in warring for control of Eden. I know someone in Eden who I think deserves to have warning of that, if it’s really going to happen.”

A war for Eden.

Castiel may not know Queen Mary, but he knows plenty about King Lucifer, and as such, he doesn’t doubt the truth of Dean’s statement for a second. It leaves his ears ringing, and his tongue feels like cotton in his mouth.

If Lucifer attacks on his own, Eden might stand a chance. Castiel may not be the omega ruler his people need, but one of the few things he was taught was an understanding of the ways of war. He is not a brilliant tactician by any means, but Eden’s army is strong and skilled, comprised of the fiercest of warriors. With the help of his few omega generals, Castiel could possibly manage to save his kingdom from being obliterated.

But if Campbell’s army joins forces with Lucifer’s, Eden’s fate will already be sealed. Even if Naomi and Cain were still alive, two full-strength armies marching against their borders would be a terrible omen.

Dean may not know it, but he’s just warned Castiel of his own imminent death.

“…Cas? Cas, are you okay?”

The king looks up. His thoughts feel jumbled, yet simultaneously hollowed. He can hardly get them in order, and he certainly has no idea how many attempts Dean has made to get his attention. He suspects this isn’t the first.

“What cause would Queen Mary have to unite with King Lucifer?” Castiel asks, circumventing Dean’s concern all together. Maybe the omega will have an answer for him, maybe he will not, but regardless, it’s something Castiel needs to figure out for the sake of his own survival. If he has merely offended Mary, or can offer her some type of payment in exchange for an allegiance between them—

“She and Lucifer are convinced that Eden’s king isn’t fit to rule,” Dean says, cutting the head off of Castiel’s budding hope with a single, swift blow. “You know how alphas are supposed to be, with their tempers and stubbornness. Everyone knows that Queen Naomi was pretty desperate to find him an omega to give him some credibility, but once she died, even a letter already sitting on M—” He stumbles briefly, cheeks dusting pink. “ _Queen_ Mary’s desk wasn’t enough to make anything happen.”

Another jolt runs through Castiel at that. He’s sure his mother wouldn’t have called his potential marriage a bid for ‘credibility’, but he absolutely believes that she would have been making efforts to find a successor worthy of her. He wishes she had discussed such a thing with him. He wonders where the omega prince of Campbell might have fallen on her list of candidates.

Dean continues, oblivious to just how thoroughly he is turning Castiel’s world on its head.

“But anyways. Especially without anyone lined up to mate with, the king of Eden is easy picking, as far as King Lucifer seems concerned. He’s pretty confident that he can win.”

“No one has ever taken Eden,” Castiel counters. Gods, he feels lightheaded. “The Novak family has held the throne for thousands of years—”

Dean shakes his head. He’s thought about this a lot, it seems. “The Novak family doesn’t have anyone wearing the omega crown for the first time in all those thousands of years. Now there’s two other omegas who want a piece, and who’ve sat at Eden’s border and watched the Novaks thrive for generations. This is as good a chance as they’re going to get.”

He’s right. Of course Dean is right. Not only does he have far more insight into the situation than Castiel can hope for in his own right, but he also doesn’t have anything at stake; it’s easy for him to be level-headed. It’s one of the things omegas are best at.

Castiel takes a deep breath to steady himself. He pointedly doesn’t think about the fact that the pleasantness of Dean’s scent makes it easier to manage; true as it may be, acknowledging it gets him nowhere, and he doesn’t have time to waste on the matter. Not with all that Dean has told him.

There’s one detail in particular which pricks at him, tugs at his focus until he’s brought fully back to attention. Dean’s ankle is long since wrapped by this point, so Castiel lets go of it and returns to the stool so that the two of them can be on an equal level as the king presses for more details.

“Your intention was to come to Eden to warn someone.” It’s a statement, not a question. Castiel leans forward, watching Dean intently. “Are you not fully in support of a sacking of Eden? What are the chances that there are others of your same mindset, and that Mary could be persuaded from joining Lucifer?”

Dean’s eyes slide away, which is far from encouraging. “I have… personal reasons for being against a war with Eden. Unfortunately, I think more people in Campbell would be for it than against it.”

“Personal reasons?”

“Uh, well.” Dean rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Long story short, my mom was an omega who mated with a beta, and people always gave them shit for it. They thought she should have been with an alpha, didn’t think he was good enough, all that. Guess you could say it made me sympathetic to the underdogs of the world.”

“And who is the underdog in this situation?” Castiel asks. The fact about Dean’s parentage is interesting, but he’s not positive on how it relates.

Until, that is, Dean explains, “Eden’s alpha king. The problem is that everyone is assuming he’s not good enough because he’s an alpha, and I can’t be convinced that that’s fair. Not after seeing all the shit my dad went through, especially.”

 _Oh_.

Castiel curls his fingers into his palms to stop the slight tremor he can feel in his hands. Dean doesn’t know him, not really, and yet here he is, in Castiel’s cabin, expressing more faith in him than anyone ever has before. He has no idea how to cope with that.

He decides to ignore it. Best not to let Dean know that he is affected, as he excuses it to himself. His identity is best left concealed.

It would feel deceitful, to tell Dean now.

“Queen Mary may be willing to support Lucifer, then,” he says, getting their conversation back on-track. “Will all of Campbell back such a movement simply because _Mary_ Campbell has something to gain from it?”

“Winchester,” Dean interjects, then explains when Castiel frowns, “Her name is Mary Winchester. She took her mate’s name. Her parents weren’t pleased, but she did.”

“Oh.” Castiel presses his lips together, feeling like a fool. How did his parents neglect to tell him _that_? It doesn’t bode well for his relationship with Queen Mary. “I suppose I’m not as well-versed in foreign policy as I could be. I had just assumed…”

Dean waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. The queen is stubborn, and has a tendency to do whatever the hell she wants. Plenty of people probably didn’t pay attention to what she did when she was young.”

“I suppose.”

“To answer your question, though, yeah.” The omega makes a vague gesture, hands spreading out helplessly. “If the queen announces that she’s going to join forces with Lucifer to sack Eden, her people aren’t going to object. People like me might be against it, but I’m not calling the shots.”

“ _Damnit_.” Castiel pushes up to his feet, frustration quickly rising to dangerous levels. He begins pacing the length of the room as he goes over it all, the motion helping him to balance as he tries to think.

A war coming from the kingdom to the south, a likely allegiance between that kingdom and the one to the west; who is there left for Castiel to call for help? Eden dominates the westernmost coast of the continent. There is a small section of border to the northeast that he shares with another kingdom, but even knowing admittedly little about Queen Anna, he knows that she doesn’t have the resources to support Eden in a war. Middleton has the smallest army in the land, only equipped for the needs of the equally small kingdom. Calling for Anna would not provide Castiel with any aid.

His parents used to have a good relationship with King Crowley and Queen Meg, but he is on the opposite border, too far to call on a moment’s notice. Coming up from behind the Campbell—Winchester—army might be an advantage, but it might also be a curse. Crossing Campbell’s lands to reach that point wouldn’t be an easy start, Mary would likely be infuriated, and the army Crowley would lead would end up having to fight just to be able to _reach_ the fight. The odds of it working out are slim to none.

The kingdom across the sea is more foreign to him than any other. Whoever may be in charge there may possibly be in a position to help, located geographically as they are, but what are the odds that someone so removed from this continent would put their resources on the line to help someone they hardly know? Even the Novak family name is not worth that much.

Which means that Castiel is alone in this. Eden has no allies.

If he weren’t an alpha, this wouldn’t have happened.

His pacing comes to an abrupt halt, and he digs his fingers into his hair. “I have to go. I need to get to the capital, I need to tell—”

“Whoa whoa, hey!”

Dean is on his feet and placing his hands on Castiel’s shoulders in an instant, cutting the king off before he can finish his sentence. _I need to tell my council_. Dean grabs his attention, though, and his touch helps to calm the racing of Castiel’s heart. Omega steadiness, ever-reliable.

“You’re not going anywhere tonight,” Dean tells him, tone leaving no room for argument. “Night is falling, it’s too dark for you to get anywhere safely. And you need to calm down and think about this, okay? I know the thought of war coming to your kingdom is terrifying, but you need to be realistic right now.”

Now that it has been pointed out, Castiel notices that the light of the sun has faded significantly. Dean is right, unsurprisingly. It seems to be a talent of his. Castiel may be stressed, but pushing himself and his horse into a moonlit race back to the castle would be dangerous and stupid. Nothing will be changed if he waits until morning. He sighs, scrubs his palms across his face, then reluctantly nods. Where did the day go? How did it end like this?

He tries not to think about it any more. Problems for tomorrow.

“Yes. Yes, we can discuss this more in the morning. You need rest to heal. You can sleep in the bed.”

Dean shifts back a step, careful not to put too much weight on his twisted ankle, and frowns at Castiel. “Where will you sleep, then?”

The king answers him with a tight smile. “You’re injured, and my guest here. You can sleep in the bed. I will sleep elsewhere.”

Dean shakes his head. “I’m not your guest, I’m an intruder. You’ve already been better to me than you needed to be. And you said yourself that you came out here for a chance to relax. Now you’re telling me you’re going to sleep on the ground, too? Not gonna happen.”

There’s a hint of trademark omega steel in Dean’s eyes as he speaks, and it utterly captivates Castiel, to the degree that forming even a partial objection proves difficult. The king wets his lips. “I will not allow _you_ to sleep on the ground, either.”

“Alright, fine.” Dean shrugs, then turns on his good foot and starts toward the bedroom. “Guess we’ll just have to share.”

That single sentence wipes Castiel’s mind clean. He doesn’t quite know what he expected to come from quarreling over their sleeping arrangements, but this certainly wasn’t it. He stands rooted in place until Dean reaches the bedroom door and turns back to him, an eyebrow raised. Thanks to the dimming light, not even the bandages around his middle could stop Dean from looking like a god made flesh.

“You coming?” Dean asks, and that’s all it takes for Castiel to overcome his trepidations and follow the omega into the bedroom.

For as strange as it should be, though, the actual process of climbing into bed with a man he doesn’t know is surprisingly easy. Dean maintains his existing state of partial undress, but while Castiel chooses to remove his outer tunic, he leaves his undershirt in place to ensure there is no indecency between them.

He is, after all, a gentleman.

They settle in without issue, quietly intimate despite having no intentions to be just that. Lying together in the dark simply has that power of influence.

It almost feels _too_ intimate, though. On the other half of the bed, Dean seems tense, coiled like he’s ready to eject himself from the situation if it somehow advances in a way he doesn’t approve of. It won’t, of course—Castiel would never so much as think of trying something—but they are still strangers to one another, so Castiel cannot say he blames the omega.

Castiel is still a bit tense in his own right from his near freakout over the fate of his kingdom. As such, plucking a subject out of thin air to reset the mood and distract them both from the messes in their heads strikes him as the best course of action available to him. He lets the first thing in his mind fall from his lips, words spoken softly into the dark of the bedroom.

“What was it you were fighting with your mother about when you left home yesterday?”

He can’t see the omega’s reaction, but Castiel certainly hears the click of his throat when he swallows. “I didn’t think you caught that,” he comments.

Castiel lifts a shoulder in a shrug, the sheets rustling along with the movement. “I’m a good listener.”

“Yeah, _good listener_ ,” Dean shoots back, “I’m sure that’s it.” He pauses for another moment, then sighs, and turns sober. “We were having a disagreement. She wants something that I don’t want, and she refuses to even listen to me about it. She expects me to obey her like everyone else does, and I _won’t_. Not when it goes against everything I believe in. I don’t care how pissed off she might be about it, either. I don’t have to listen to her.”

There’s more venom laced into Dean’s words than Castiel would have expected, given how amicable everything exchanged between them—greeting notwithstanding—has been thus far. Castiel understands being passionate about certain subjects, as well, but considering specifically what it is that has Dean upset, whether he understands or not, the king has to frown.

“Is this something that is worth fighting with your mother over?”

The bed shakes as Dean rolls to face him. Castiel glances sideways at him, and holds still in the face of Dean’s glare. “It is, actually, yes. She’s being a selfish, controlling, bitch.”

Castiel winces at the harshness of that word. “You don’t think it could be worth hearing her out?” he tries. “This is something that is worth having a soured relationship? Would you feel the same if it became permanent?”

Dean is quiet for a long moment. “You… Think I should do what she wants?”

“I think not reconciling with your mother can be a terrible thing.”

There’s another length of silence, then the unmistakable shuffling of Dean rolling back onto his back. His previous tension does not return, so even if there is now something else weighing on Dean’s mind, Castiel cannot bring himself to regret it. His advice was genuine; he wouldn’t wish his own pains on anyone, let alone someone who seems as genuine and kind as Dean does.

Castiel settles himself in, readying himself to actually get to sleep. His thoughts are still churning, but that is not enough to stop himself from trying to relax.

It’s odd, sleeping in a bed with another person. Not bad, by any means, as the warmth from another body warms him to his core and the sound of Dean’s every breath is like a lullaby in the quiet of the room, but Castiel has not shared a bed with anyone since he was a boy, likely whenever he last shared this very bed with his father on one of their trips—and that, of course, was very different.

After a few minutes, long enough that Castiel had been certain that Dean had dropped off to sleep beside him, the omega sucks a breath in through his teeth, then speaks out into the silence.

“You really think I should make up with my mom, Cas?”

Castiel lets the depth of the question sink in for a moment.

“I believe,” he begins slowly, carefully choosing his words, “that that depends on your relationship with her, and the relationship you want to have going forward. It is hard to say for sure without knowing what you are fighting about, but…” He shifts, adjusting the blanket that’s stretched over them both before confessing, “I lost my mother, and there were many issues between us that I regret never having the chance to resolve because of that. She was disappointed that I am an alpha, and I never even had the chance to take a mate to earn back some of her favor. Not that that would have fixed all of our problems, but it would have been _something_. As it is, there’s nothing I can do about the regrets I have, and that haunts me most of all. So my advice would be… Don’t let yourself be set up for any similar regrets. Nothing is worth that.”

Dean doesn’t respond to that right away. As the silence stretches on, Castiel begins to suspect he won’t get a reply at all, but just as the king is resigning himself to that fate, Dean lets out a quiet sigh.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says. “I’ll talk to her when I get home. I’d rather not fight with her.” A beat passes, and he adds softly, “I’m sorry about your mom, Cas.”

The air leaves Castiel’s lungs all at once. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean hums, but when he curls in on himself to make himself more comfortable, Castiel knows that’s truly the end of the conversation. He listens to the steady rhythm of the omega’s breathing, monitoring it as he drops off to sleep. Just before Castiel drops off to sleep, he swears he hears Dean say, “Night, Cas.”

He’s too far gone to respond in kind, but it warms him nonetheless.

When he wakes in the morning, Dean’s scent is wrapped around him, but the bedsheets beside him are long since cold. He doesn’t need to investigate any more than that to know that the omega is truly gone. He’s surprised that Dean stayed for as long as he did, after all, and logically, Castiel knows that his departure is probably for the best. As much as he might already enjoy Dean’s company, even just after a few hours, he doesn’t have the privilege of time to further appreciate it any further.

Wherever Dean is from, wherever he is returning to, he will be better off there. If war is to come to Eden. Dean is best to stay away, and to stay safe. Being involved with Castiel to any degree would only jeopardize that safety.

And that is something that Castiel does not need more time with Dean to recognize that he refuses to do.

He lies in bed for longer than he should, breathing in Dean’s lingering scent until it begins to fade. It provides him time to avoid thinking about his fate. Time to fantasize about what other courses his life could have taken.

He makes a pledge to himself, then and there.

If he wins the war, the first thing he will do is locate Dean. He’ll search all of Campbell if he has to, but no matter what, he won’t let Dean slip away from him completely.

Once his resolve has been made, Castiel sends a silent prayer up to the gods. If he is going to win—to survive—he is going to need the support of the entire pantheon.

He has a feeling that Dean will be worth the effort.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean spends a lot of time thinking about Cas. 
> 
> Maybe even too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know I had initially said this would be two chapters, but... I think this piece can actually stand on its own fairly well, and since it's the quickest way to get an update up without everyone having to wait for me to write at least another 5k... Fuck it. Now part 2/3. For sure this time. 
> 
> Enjoy a Dean POV interlude. 
> 
> (Also, I'm not typically one to include poems or quotes at the start of a fic/chapter, but this one Got Me. I read it in the same class that encouraged me to call this fic Peace-Weaver (a kenning dating back to Beowulf), and it has such strong PW vibes that I can't resist using it to set the tone. It'll feel relevant, I swear. Plus, Lady Mary Wroth was the first woman in England to write a series of sonnets, so let's appreciate her, yeah? <3)

_In this strange labyrinth how shall I turn?_  
_Ways are on all sides while the way I miss;_  
_If to the right hand, there in love I burn;_  
_Let me go forward, therein danger is;_

 _If to the left, suspicion hinders bliss,_  
_Let me turn back, shame cries I ought return_  
_Nor faint, though crosses with my fortunes kiss;_  
_Stand still is harder, although sure to mourn._  
  
_Thus let me take the right, or left hand way;_  
_Go forward, or stand still, or back retire;_  
_I must these doubts endure without allay_  
_Or help, but travail find for my best hire;_  
  
_Yet that which most my troubled sense doth move_  
_Is to leave all, and take the thread of love._

_-Lady Mary Wroth_

 

 

Dean spends a lot of time thinking about Cas.

Maybe even too much.

He can’t help it, though. He may have only spent a few hours total with the alpha, but Cas was so _nice_ to him. Caring. Nurturing. So genuine and open in a way that most alphas in Dean’s vicinity don’t dare to be. Lacking in an alpha parent as he was growing up, it’s an experience he has truly never had.

But of course, that’s not the _only_ reason he had liked Cas. The other reasons simply go without saying.

Regardless of whether he dwells on those other reasons or not, however, he supposes that thinking of Cas is only fair. The alpha is, after all, largely responsible for the way in which Dean’s life has unfolded in the time since they met.

After he returned home, Dean took Cas’ advice to heart and made an effort to settle things with his mother. Queen Mary was not pleased that he left to begin with, even without knowing that he went to Eden (or was attacked on his way there), but she was gracious in her forgiveness, and life resumed without them having missed a single beat.

Not even going back to normal can stop Dean from thinking about Cas, though. In fact, it does the opposite, because while Dean resumes his duties as crown prince as if he had never tried to leave them, he gets everything that goes along with it.

Including the war preparations.

Cas hadn’t understood the full weight of the debate he was settling, in telling Dean to listen to his mother. Dean knows that. But regardless, at its core, Cas’ perspective had come from too personal of a place to be ignored.

Even if it was only mentioned in passing, it was clear that Cas was still suffering from the loss of his mother. And if Dean were in his shoes, he doesn’t know how he would cope.

What would he do if he or Mary died while they were at-odds with one another?

Not only would Mary’s death drop the entirety of Campbell’s responsibilities onto Dean’s shoulders, but it would also haunt him. He knows that without a doubt.

He could hear it in Cas’ voice.

Dean doesn’t like preparing for war. He doesn’t want to see Campbell aligned with King Lucifer, and more importantly, he doesn’t want to sack Eden. Cas’ cabin was the most Dean has ever seen of his neighboring kingdom, but even that much was beautiful. Eden’s people (one particular man) were good to him. And if that somehow wasn’t enough to make him feel protective of it (it is), there’s also the knowledge in the back of his mind that if Queen Naomi had not died, Dean likely would have been married to her son. Eden would have been _his_.

Sure, that thought isn’t quite as appealing as it once might have been—also Cas’ fault—but it still _means something_.

But obeying his mother means making compromises. So he does as he’s told.

He contributes to letters his mother exchanges with King Lucifer. He works with Campbell’s top generals to ensure their army is in peak shape. He plans contingencies with his brother. He negotiates with their lords to secure all of the resources they could possibly need, accounting for their march on Eden’s capital as well as a potential siege, seeing as Lucifer has made it clear he is not above starving the Novaks out if it comes to it.

And between it all, when he has a few hours or a night to spare when no one will notice his absence, he slips into the woods and returns to the cabin by the lake. No matter how many times he visits, though, and no matter how long he stays in the cabin each time, Cas never shows. With nothing to go off but that single location, he has no idea how else he might find the alpha.

Every night, he prays to the gods that when he does find Cas, it won’t be on the battlefield.

He prays to the gods that he won’t find him already dead, slain by his own army or Lucifer’s.

The alpha is of noble disposition, that much Dean is sure of, but if he can be in the perfect medium space between high-ranking official and nameless foot soldier, then there is a chance he will survive. There is a chance that Lucifer and Mary will not have him slaughtered for the purpose of solidifying their own control of Eden’s lands, and that he won’t be given back to the earth without Dean ever having so much as learned his full name.

Dean isn’t incredibly confident in the odds. But he has to hope.

Thankfully, the battle preparations actually take up quite a bit of the prince’s time. Cas wiggles his way into the gaps in his thoughts, and into the late nights when Dean can’t sleep, but as time passes, the alpha fades from the forefront of his mind. Dean doesn’t forget about him, far from, but he has to rationalize. Prioritize. Because no matter what may or may not happen with Cas, there is nothing for Dean to do about it until the war has passed.

As always, his kingdom must come before his personal desires.

At least, that is what he has to tell himself, several times over, to stomach Lucifer.

The letters that are exchanged with King Lucifer help to establish many of the necessary details of the upcoming invasion, but there is only so much that can be communicated in the written hand. Dean would rather not acknowledge such a detail, but when letters transition to meetings, first between generals and then with the foreign king himself, there is little for the prince to do but play his part.

Together, they solidify their plans, discuss formations, set a timeline. The sooner they can get to Eden, the less time Eden’s king will have to prepare, and so once they’ve confirmed that everything is in order, they set out. King Lucifer will lead his army from Gehenna’s capital city, Dean will lead Campbell’s from their own capital, and in the end, they will converge on Eden at the same time.

“With luck,” Lucifer says, with a foul smile that has Dean’s blood turning to ice in his veins, “the false king won’t know we’re coming until it’s already too late for him to save himself.”

To which Mary smiles and agrees, “I am confident in your successes.”

Dean remains silent. He thinks back to Cas, purely to remind himself of why he reconciled with his mother. Why he is in the position that he is in.

 _For Cas_.

He can’t bring himself to be surprised when Mary elects to stay in Campbell during the march on Eden. When the time comes to depart, Dean’s horse is saddled and the caravans are ready, yet the queen is nowhere in sight—until, that is, she emerges from the castle doors, dressed far too regally for riding.

Dean suppresses a sigh and goes to her. He kneels at the base of the stairs she is descending, suddenly feeling spiteful enough to not give a damn for the mud he knows will stain the knee of his trousers when he stands again.

When Mary reaches him, she pets a hand through his hair and gently encourages him to look up. The soft smile on her lips doesn’t reach her eyes. “Dean. My son. It is time for you to prove yourself, and show all of Campbell that you are prepared to be a leader. Go out there and make me proud.”

The prince clenches his jaw. “You will not be accompanying us?”

“You don’t need me to. You are almost ready to be king. You need to prepare yourself for that transition.” Mary pauses; the brief silence is weighted, and not in a good way. “King Lucifer has made us a very good offer.”

Dean sucks in a sharp breath. He pushes up to his feet, decorum be damned, and uses his advantage of height to very nearly glare at his mother. “What kind of offer? Why wasn’t I told about this?”

Mary’s eyes narrow slightly, but her expression otherwise remains impassive. “King Lucifer has an alpha sister, Abaddon. Our kingdoms are forming a union to overtake Eden, and as such, Lucifer and I have agreed that solidifying that for the future with a marriage would be best. We will be dividing Eden’s resources evenly; our alliance is going to be very important over the next few years.”

The queen’s words leave Dean’s ears ringing. He had known that Eden was to be divided between Lucifer and Mary, absorbed in equal measure into Gehenna and Campbell, but a _marriage_. And to Lucifer’s sister, no less.

Dean has not heard much about Abaddon, but he has heard enough. He knows that she is cruel, vicious, sadistic, the most feared alpha in the land, the sword of Lucifer’s conquering army. And Dean has seen Gehenna; legend has it that the land was once green and beautiful, but now it is barren, abused by its leaders for generations.

Yet Mary arranged for Dean to wed Abaddon. To accept her into Campbell.

Dean feels as if he’s going to be sick.

Mary pats his cheek affectionately, either not caring for or not noticing his horror. “She will make a fine alpha, and the two of you will be very happy together. Just think about how strong your children will be. And when the two of you are crowned, side by side—”

“Mom—”

“—You’ll see that this was the best thing to do. You’ll thank me.”

Dean doubts that.

Mary presses a quick kiss to his forehead, Sam emerges from his studies for long enough to give him a hug, and the pair wave to Dean until he is out of sight, the long procession of his army trailing behind him. It’s a nice enough send-off, even if the destination is less nice.

The trip to Eden is slow and tiring. Travelling with an army at his heels is far different from sneaking off to Cas’ cabin, as it requires a continuous march of armed and ready soldiers, squires, and other assorted supporters, all in perfect order, bookended by flag bearers. It’s nothing short of an ordeal.

Thinking about it sets Dean’s nerves on edge, and has anxiety curling in his gut. It feels _wrong_. Out-of-step. Like he’s charging toward disaster with no weapon in his hand and no way to stop himself.

It’s not a good mindset for the commander of an invasion to have.

Dean tries not to pay too much attention to the actual journey into Eden, but such a thing is easier said than done. Eden is gorgeous, lush and green and littered with quaint, stone-lined towns and villages which even Dean could see himself living in. It speaks to a good quality of life, and reflects well on the Novak family’s legacy. Dean can’t help but like it.

But of course, the way that Eden’s citizens look on at their procession with fear significantly dampens Dean’s appreciation. They all know what’s coming; no matter how respectful Campbell’s army remains during their march (because Dean expects nothing less), they are still an invading force, and no one wants to see that.

And once word reaches Dean that Lucifer’s army is taking the _raping and pillaging_ path up from the south, well. He cannot say he faults the people of Eden for their fear.

The note of wrongness in his bones only gets worse.

Despite the differences in their approaches, however, the two armies reach their agreed-upon field of battle at nearly the same time. Dean is overseeing the assembly of his army’s camp when Lucifer arrives. He holds onto his manners for long enough to greet the king, but once Lucifer returns the greeting with, “My sister will be along soon,” Dean makes an excuse about a headache and retires to his command tent.

It is not hard to guess why Abaddon is lingering behind her brother—the alpha is no doubt taking time to satisfy her bloodlust. Given that, Dean has no desire to see her. He hardly even wants to acknowledge her existence, until he absolutely has to.

He doesn’t sleep well that night. Hell, he hardly sleeps at all; the sounds of the camp around his tent grate at his senses, and _what-ifs_ and _whys_ circle around and around in his mind on an endless loop, making it impossible to relax.

He’s doing this for his mother, as he forcibly reminds himself time and time again. He’s doing it for the good of Campbell. He’s doing it for the resources they will gain from Eden, and for the new allies they will have in Gehenna, going forward. If all goes well, Campbell will never have to worry about a thing.

No matter how hard he tries to remain focused on those positives, though, he cannot quite convince himself. Eden has never done Campbell wrong. At times in the past, Eden has been their _ally_. It is a strong, but peaceful land, with rulers who have never done wrong by their citizens.

Why do they deserve to be exterminated? Destroyed, captured and enslaved? Because there is no doubt that that is exactly the fate Eden’s people will receive, with King Lucifer in command of their destinies.

Is having a lone alpha on the throne truly worth such a violent punishment?

When Dean finally manages to fall asleep, it’s to troubled memories of his father, intermixed with jumbled recollections of Cas. It’s a natural combination, he thinks, given the circumstances.

It is also a natural progression, then, when what sleep he has is filled with dreams of a reassuring alpha scent, and the imagined warmth of another body beside his own in his small bed. However, even in his sleep he knows that he won’t wake up curled on Cas’ chest as he had in that cabin; the melancholy of that knowledge prevents him from taking any sort of joy from even the dream’s lightest aspects.

He wakes unrested, and in a foul mood to boot.

The only silver lining to the morning comes from the fact that his squire enters his tent with a summons soon after he wakes.

(And that summons _isn’t_ for breakfast with Abaddon, as was Dean’s first instinctual, bone-deep fear.)

Apparently, King Novak assembled his army in the night, with defenses raised around his capital, and a forward camp set up around the outermost perimeter to match those of Gehenna and Campbell’s forces. The alpha king’s message is clear.

Eden will not fold easily.

Dean tries not to feel proud of the enemy king for that. He hastily begins to pull on a tunic, expecting to need to confer with Lucifer over the matter—he does not dread talking about strategy so much as he does nearly every other topic imaginable—but stops when his squire clears his throat. The prince glances toward the young omega, his brows pulling together. “Problem, Kevin?”

“No, your highness,” Kevin is quick to reply. “But—well. King Lucifer was the first to be alerted, and he has made his intentions clear. He and his sister are currently donning their armor. King Lucifer plans to ride out to meet the king of Eden to demand his surrender.”

Dean takes a moment to process that. He does not doubt for a second that Lucifer will tell Eden’s king to surrender—but he also knows that it will not happen. Not only is he a Novak, headstrong and proud by blood, but he’s also an alpha, and would never give up caring for his people in such a way. Though Dean has yet to see them, he knows the defenses established around King Novak’s city are proof of that. Proof that Eden will not be lost without a fight.

The fact that Lucifer is going out to meet him in his armor, then, means that that fight is nearer than Dean had previously expected. He did not expect to have _much_ time, of course, but they only just arrived; Dean has only been on the front lines of a single siege prior to this one, a much smaller battle against one of Campbell’s own lords gone rogue, but no matter how different Lord Gordon Walker might have been from the king of Eden, there should be _decorum_. Ritual. Patience.

It’s only fitting that King Lucifer would act in defiance of all of that. Pompous jackass.

Kevin still looks nervous, clearly unsure of how the prince will react to the news of his ally’s behavior. As it is, there is little Dean can do but sigh.

“So we’re getting right to it, then. Wonderful.” He runs a hand down his face, then tugs his tunic back off and tosses it away. “Help me with my armor, will you, Kev?”

His squire rushes to his assistance, and soon enough, Dean is striding from his tent, plated in metal with a sword on his hip. He flicks his chin in a gesture for his personal guard to follow him along toward Lucifer’s half of the camp, too wary of Gehenna’s army to venture in alone even while armed and looking regal.

And he _does_ look regal; his silver and gold armor is a perfect match for the intricate, sweeping designs of his crown, the shared metals working together in harmony to make him appear grand, capable, authoritative. It is by design, but also inherent in Dean himself. A role he was born to play.

But of course, Gehenna’s people are called _demons_ by whispering voices on the street for a reason. Dean does not trust them to follow common sense.

Best to keep Benny at his side.

His guard obediently falls into step with him as they hurry toward Lucifer’s tent. The king and his sister exit just as Dean and Benny arrive, both dressed in their armor, as Kevin told him to expect. Lucifer’s armor is black as pitch, while his sister’s is a bloody red match for her hair. The sight of them puts a note of unease in Dean’s stomach.

Abaddon is the first to notice him. “Good morning, your highness,” she purrs, the corners of her lips curling upwards. “Great day to win a kingdom, wouldn’t you say? You certainly look ready for it.”

Her eyes rake suggestively across the clean lines of Dean’s armor. Dean clears his throat and fights back a blush.

From the way Benny chuckles under his breath behind him, Dean suspects he isn’t all that successful. Damn bastard. Dean would punch him, if the alpha weren’t covered from head to toe in leather and iron.

“Princess Abaddon, King Lucifer.” Dean nods toward each of them in turn, then fixes his gaze resolutely on the latter. He can’t shirk Abaddon forever, he knows, but he isn’t quite ready to face her. “I’ve been told that Eden has established defenses. Lost the element of surprise, did we?”

Lucifer shrugs. “King Novak knew we were coming, it was only a matter of _when_ that surprised him. Behind his lines, he’s scrambling. He isn’t ready.” The king’s smile sharpens, then, and he gestures in the general direction of the city they are about to attack. “A birdy told me that the alpha king himself is already standing out in the field, waiting for us to talk to him. Would you like to accompany me and see if it’s true?”

Dean takes a deep breath, then dips his chin in a nod. “No reason to keep him waiting if it is.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Lucifer claps a hand to Dean’s shoulder, enough inherent force behind the gesture that Dean only barely doesn’t stumble. “Walk with me, Dean.”

Dean grits his teeth, but goes along without objecting.

Maybe it will be best to get this battle over with. The sooner they win this thing, the sooner he can go home, and be far away from Lucifer.

At least, until the king eventually brings his sister to Campbell.

What did Dean do to deserve this?

Lucifer and Abaddon make idle conversation as the three of them weave through the camp toward the front line. They don’t exclude Dean, but the prince has no desire to take part, either, so he gives short answers when necessary, but otherwise primarily ignores them. They mostly chat about hypotheticals for the upcoming battle and the damage they wrought during their journey north; in short, it is not a conversation which holds much interest to him. 

The beginning of a headache throbs between his temples.

When they reach the front lines, Abaddon lets out a low whistle at the sight that awaits them. “Well, would you look at that.”

There’s a figure standing in the center of the field, silhouetted by the light of the sun, still hanging low in the sky. The man bears no banner and any details of his armor are lost over the distance, yet there is no way to doubt his identity. Only one person in all of Eden would walk out into the open and put himself at risk for the sake of negotiations.

“Oh, this is _delightful_ ,” Lucifer croons. “He really is desperate. Dean, let’s go meet him. And sister dear, prepare the archers, will you? We won’t kill him just yet, but he does not need to know that.”

Dean turns away to hide his grimace. Everything about this is _wrong_. And just when he thinks he has seen the extend of Lucifer and Abaddon’s monstrosity, it reaches a new level of horror.

Gods, give him strength.

More words leave Lucifer’s tongue, but Dean hears none of them. He starts walking when he king does, showing focus and commitment he does not truly feel, and maintains his appropriate place half a step behind the other omega. Every bone in his body protests the small gesture of submission, especially to a king so vile, but that same vileness is also exactly what keeps him from pushing his luck with Lucifer.

He is here for the job. Win the battle, sack Eden, go home. Keeping that at the forefront of his mind is the only thing that is going to get him through the events to come.

The walk out to meet the Novak king is a long one. The alpha had come out on foot, judging by the lack of a horse behind him, which Dean assumes is the prime justification for their doing the same—but he is also quickly coming to understand Lucifer’s savagery, and as such, is confident that the passage of time is an integral part of Lucifer’s equation.

Let Novak fear the archers he can see lining up in the distance. Let him sweat while his would-be conquerors make their unhurried approach.

They stop a dozen feet or so in front of the alpha king. His helmet conceals his face, but there are still plenty of other details about him for Dean to look over and assess. Despite all of his misgivings with so many other aspects of his current situation, Dean has no intention of misusing his first encounter with their foe. Still a step behind Lucifer, Dean lets his gaze sweep across what he can see of Novak.

The alpha is tall, broad-shouldered—fitting of his gender. The faceplate on his helmet (angled slightly toward Dean, the prince notes) makes it impossible to read too far into his emotional state, but the stiff way he holds himself says more than enough. His armor is a brilliant, beautiful shade of blue, the likes of which Dean has never seen incorporated into armor, yet right now, on this frame, it looks awkward and uncomfortable. Furthermore, while Lucifer has immediately adopted a cocky stance with his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, the king opposite them displays no intention of keeping his own sword ready to be drawn.

That last detail is particularly curious. Lucifer’s aggression is clear, yet Novak does not seem to have a reaction to it. Is it bravery that is causing such a behavior, or stupidity? Does he not realize what he is up against?

“Your majesty,” Lucifer greets, his tone dripping with derision. He tilts his head in a facsimile of a bow. “Gorgeous morning we’re having, wouldn’t you say? The breeze feels nice.” The omega king makes a show of tousling his hair, unsubtly calling attention to the sharp, golden crown which encircles it. “I see you are already ashamed enough of yourself to know better than to show your face. You may be an alpha, but maybe you _aren’t_ stupid.”

Dean scowls at the back of Lucifer’s head. Not only is everything he says useless taunting and wasted air, but his sister is an alpha—is this what he truly thinks of her? They seem to have a good relationship, but the way he speaks of her gender suggests that she may as well be a particularly faithful hunting dog.

Dean steps forward to be even with Lucifer, breaking his earlier decision to quietly play his role for the sake of sparing himself from having to listen to any more pointless insults. He speaks out before he can be stopped, cutting straight to the matter at hand.

“We came here to set terms. We have no intention of backing down, but if you surrender now, Eden can change hands peacefully. There is no need for any more bloodshed than is necessary.”

He can feel Lucifer seething beside him, furious at being interrupted, but Dean’s attention is elsewhere right now. For a long moment, King Novak remains impassive. His faceplate is still angled toward Dean, but then, that has been the case from the moment they arrived; he might be staring at the prince, he might not. It’s impossible to tell. Perhaps it’s a trick of the light.

The silence stretches out between them.

And then the alpha lifts his hands to his helmet. He moves slowly, every second carefully weighted, and lifts the helmet away.

The face that is revealed is tanned, with a jawline that is perfect and stubbled. There’s a mess of dark hair haloing his head, mussed from its time under the helmet, and Dean is hit with an all-too-familiar need to _touch_ just seeing it.

Of course, the stunning blue of the alpha’s eyes are impossible not to recognize. Dean may have only seen them the once, for a span of mere hours, but he still would know them anywhere, even if they won’t rise high enough to meet his own.

Gods, Dean is going to be sick.

Cas can’t even _look_ at him.

Of all the different ways Dean imagined finding him again, this was never one of them, not even in his worst nightmares.

But the gods are cruel. Dean should have known that.

As he stands opposite Cas for the first time in weeks, many of his memories of the alpha fall back into focus, with a painful amount of fresh clarity.

Cas’ obvious nobility. His quiet retreat of a cabin, away from his responsibilities. His reaction to the news of the war. _His mourning of his lost mother_.

Dean had not remembered the Novak king’s first name. He had not bothered to ask. He should have asked.

Lucifer begins to speak again, but Dean hears none of it. His world has been narrowed down to him and Cas, and nothing else.

Because it’s _Cas_.

It seems to take an eternity, but the alpha finally, _finally_ raises his gaze to Dean’s. When their eyes meet, the prince feels something in him splinter, then shatter into a thousand pieces.

In that moment, he is hit by another realization, this one far more barbed than any of the last. It stings across his face, settles into his gut and leaves him feeling faint.

No matter what happens from here on out, he is completely, utterly, fucked.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has never felt his heart shatter like it does in that moment. 
> 
> At least Dean looks good in a crown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. The end. 
> 
> I did it. 
> 
> Please enjoy. <3

Castiel can be brash at times. He knows that very well. It’s a trait that rises up in him at the most inconvenient of times, spurring him onward into situations he should know better than to get himself into.

But when it comes to a matter as serious as the safety of his entire kingdom, there is not a single regret in Castiel’s heart.

He knew he was putting himself at risk by walking out into the barren no man’s land between his army and his invaders’, but that had not discouraged him. He put on his armor and simply began walking, despite the protests from his generals. Any and every danger is worth securing his people’s survival. His determination does not make his choice any less foolish, but so long as he is prepared for all likely outcomes, he does not think it worth caring about.

Unfortunately, _all likely outcomes_ does not include the one which actually comes to be.

He is not surprised by the slow approach the foreign armies’ leaders make, nor is he surprised by the clear way their archers take up their positions along the front line in a silent threat. All of it is expected; Castiel remains steady.

And then the approaching figures come into focus, the details of their features resolving into concrete shapes instead of sun-blinded glares reflected off gleaming armor. King Lucifer is clear to pick out from the pair, with his dark armor and cocky smirk, but the other omega, just barely behind him…

Castiel has never felt his heart shatter like it does in that moment.

At least Dean looks good in a crown.

Most of what Lucifer has to say is lost in the ringing in Castiel’s ears. It isn’t worthy of his attention, anyway; there is too much about Dean to take in, too much of what Castiel thought he knew to relearn. He’s too caught in the arch of Dean’s cheekbones, the constellations of his freckles in the sunlight, the way the gold accents adorning both his armor and his crown highlight the green of his eyes—

Castiel’s heart is in his throat, and his limbs feel numb. If Lucifer were to strike against him now, he doubts he would be able to even so much as raise a hand in self-defense. He can hardly _breathe_ right now, how should he be expected to fight?

Although if Dean were to be the one to hold a sword to his throat…

He doesn’t want to think about that possibility too closely. Not when he already knows he would submit.

“We came here to set terms,” Dean says, and while it is so good to hear his voice again, the reality of the situation sours that pleasure, deepens the chasm in the alpha’s chest. “We have no intention of backing down, but if you surrender now, Eden can change hands peacefully. There is no need for any more bloodshed than is necessary.”

It is only then that Castiel’s world expands back beyond the bounds of the omega’s pull. Dean came here to discuss terms. They are on opposite sides of a war. One of them—and Castiel knows very well which one; he knows the odds he is facing—is not going to survive the coming days.

But as Dean stares at him, his expression shows only irritation for Lucifer. There is no recognition in his eyes, no indication that this encounter means anything to him like it means to Castiel.

_He doesn’t know._

He has to eventually. Castiel may as well let that be now. He moves slowly when pulling off his helmet, giving King Lucifer and Prince Dean (Dean Winchester, son of Mary Campbell, how did Castiel not _realize_ ) no reason to think he is about to attack. With a final intake of breath to steel himself, he reveals himself to his two enemies.

Dean’s gasp isn’t loud, but it may as well be, in the silence that is between them.

Castiel cannot bring himself to look at him. It’s different now that he has been exposed. Now that Dean _sees him_. He does not need to see what the omega thinks of him in this new light.

There is a vast difference between _Cas_ , the alpha caring for a lost and injured omega, and _Castiel_ , the alpha playing at being king.

King Lucifer huffs. “Being a pretty boy alpha isn’t going to get you out of this war, Novak, but thank you for finally joining the conversation. If you’re hoping those looks will get you added to a harem instead of slaughtered, however, I would say your odds are slim. Although perhaps if you ask nicely while you surrender…”

It’s the vileness in the other king’s words which finally convinces Castiel to raise his eyes from where they have been fixed on the dirt. He knows enough about Lucifer to not necessarily be surprised by his attitude, but as Castiel’s gaze slides up toward Dean… He needs to know if this is coming from both omegas, or just the one.

However, Dean doesn’t give any indication of even having heard Lucifer speak. The prince is caught staring at _him_ , at Castiel, a look of shock and devastation across his features. It isn’t a set of emotions Castiel wants Dean to have to deal with, of course it isn’t, but that does not stop the alpha from feeling the faintest amount of relief.

He may be ashamed to have Dean seeing him like this, may still loathe everything about their situation and the circumstances which led to this second meeting, but if nothing else…

If nothing else, it is good to know that Dean is not on the same crusade toward cruelty that his ally is. That would not be the Dean that Castiel met at his cabin, and seeing Dean stand by that behavior would undoubtedly break Castiel’s spirit more than he can presently afford.

He presses his lips into a tight line and turns his attention toward Lucifer. He needs to focus, and continuing to stare at Dean is not the way to accomplish that. He has _priorities_.

“Leave my lands,” he says, the steel in his voice a deliberate counter to Lucifer’s taunting. Taunting which Castiel feels no remorse for ignoring. “Leave _now_ ; there does not need to be a battle today. I am prepared to negotiate for my kingdom’s peace.”

Fire burns through Lucifer’s eyes, and he sneers in answer. “For your own sake, your terms better be good.”

Castiel’s upper lip twitches, threatening to curl into a snarl. “Leave here, and in return, I will give you each a portion of Eden. Your kingdoms can grow without my own people paying the price. Your greed can be satisfied.”

He thinks he sees Dean flinch at that; he doesn’t dare take his eyes off Lucifer to check.

“What makes you think we would take that deal when we can just as easily slaughter you and take _all_ of your resources?” Lucifer demands. “This is not a negotiation, this is insulting.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “This is the only offer of this nature you are going to receive. Take it, or else lose your army in a war which will not be won easily. Eden has stood strong for thousands of years, and it will continue to do so for thousands more. I am offering you a chance to save your people, while also expanding your kingdom. You came here seeking _one_ of those things, did you not?”

“We _came here_ ,” the omega king seethes, “to destroy an alpha who does not know his place. When we take Eden, we will take _all_ of it, and the Novak legacy will become nothing more than a sad memory for those who remain standing. Your people will be killed and enslaved, it will be no one’s fault but your own.”

The biting words only reinforce Castiel’s resolve; he raises his chin, defiant as ever. “Then prepare to lay down your life for this battle, as I will do nothing but the same. I will defend Eden to my last breath. You would do well not to underestimate me in the coming days, Lucifer.”

The informal use of his name pulls a snarl out of Lucifer, which in turn makes Castiel inordinately pleased. “And you should not underestimate _me_ ,” is the omega’s retort of choice. “I’ll make sure you suffer when you die.”

He turns on his heel and storms away, back in the direction from whence he came. Being free of him is immediately relieving.

However, there is also a downside to his departure.

With Lucifer gone, there is nowhere for Castiel to look, except for directly at Dean.

The omega prince still seems to be processing his surprise over Castiel’s identity, and is very clearly tangled up in his own thoughts as a result—he doesn’t seem to have noticed his fellow omega’s absence, after all. Beyond his surprise, though, more than anything else…

Dean looks devastated.

Castiel has an intimate understanding of just how that feels.

The silence seems to stretch on for eons. Then, “Cas—”

Still well on his way back toward his camp, Lucifer turns and growls over his shoulder. “Dean! That is enough!”

Castiel directs a fleeting glare in Lucifer’s direction, then lets his gaze fall to the grass. He ignores the ache he feels in his chest when he tells Dean, “You should go.” Each word weighs on him like a death pronouncement, heavy on his heart.

Dean’s expression crumples further, visible even in Castiel’s peripheral vision, and a broken sigh rattles out of his chest. He takes a breath in as if preparing to speak on his own behalf—but whatever words he may have been preparing never make it past his lips. Dean turns and follows after Lucifer, and that is the end of it.

Castiel remains on the field for longer than he rightfully should. When he finally returns to his camp, he feels cold to his core. The motivation he had felt when going out to meet his rivals has long since dissipated, but there’s one thing he knows for sure.

The battle ahead of them is going to be a long one.

~

Castiel doubles his sentries for the remainder of the day, wary of an attack when they are expecting it least, and keeps his forces on standby while he dives back into discussions with his generals. There is an indescribable amount of tension in the command tent while they confer, solidifying their strategies, planning how to use their city’s natural defenses in their favor, and detailing contingencies out to the last possible soldier left standing.

If Castiel is killed—and he inevitably will be, if they cannot hold back the tide and the odds fall away from their favor—there is a solemn understanding among his generals that they must not surrender. The only possibility for this war is for it to be a fight to the death, because if King Lucifer and Queen Mary take Eden for themselves, there will be nothing but death regardless. No member of the army or royal advising staff would ever be allowed to survive.

But of course, the generals’ personal safety is not their only motivation in agreeing to lay down their lives for Eden, if need be.

They must do so for the safety of their families. Their friends. Their _people_.

Either Eden will endure, or they will die together. Regardless, history will not be able to say that they rolled over easily.

It makes for grim discussion, but by the time dusk falls, Castiel feels satisfied with his generals’ levels of preparation. Castiel may not have been raised with all of the knowledge he should have been to properly run his kingdom on his own, but as an alpha, he was certainly educated in the arts of war. He knows strategy. He knows which tactics are proven to work and which are doomed for failure, based upon centuries of history and proven successes. Lucifer clearly believes he has the upper hand in this assault, but while the invaders do have strength of numbers, Castiel knows what he is capable of.

As his command tent empties, his generals leaving him for the night while the wait for the Lucifer’s attack continues (since, by common agreement, they are waiting to see what the foreign king does first, and studying his movements from afar in the meantime), one of Castiel’s guards enters. The alpha dips into a low bow, then presents a sealed leaf of paper.

Castiel studies him, but does not reach to take it. “Gadreel, what is this?”

“A message from the enemy camp, my king,” he answers. “A page requested it be presented to you directly. She claimed it was urgent.”

From the enemy camp. Curiosity gets the better of Castiel, and he gingerly accepts the folded letter, pinching the paper between his fingers like it might scald him. Written across the front in a neat, elegant script are the words, _for the king_.

Castiel finds himself unable to look away from it, even as he says, “Thank you, Gadreel. You are dismissed.”

“Yes, my king.” Gadreel presses his closed fist to his chest, then exits the tent.

Alone for the first time in hours, Castiel is struck by how silent the world suddenly seems. The tension that runs deep through the camp as well as the city they are set just beyond is a palpable thing, making it clear just how many fates are hanging in the balance.

He flips the letter over. The red wax holding it closed bears a sigil which is only vaguely familiar, a pentagram set in a ring of fire. Castiel runs the pad of his thumb across it, feeling the indented shape, then breaks it open.

The message he finds scrawled inside is quick, succinct, and lacking in formality.

 

_Cas—_

_Over the hill north of the battle field, there is a stream and small cave. Meet me there after sundown. Come alone._

_Please._

 

Castiel almost doesn’t dare to hope, but even without a closing signature, he knows exactly who the letter is from. And he shouldn’t— _gods_ , he knows he shouldn’t—but he knows he has to go. In the event that this isn’t some form of trick, it is an opportunity he needs to have. He can be selfish enough for it, just this once.

He crumples the letter in his fist and drops it into the low-burning fire in the center of his tent, then starts rifling through his chest of clothing for a cloak. His attire is already dark, matching the somber tone of the battle they sit on the brink of, but the cloak is a necessary addition to conceal the silver etchings around his collar which give away his regality, and the hood is important to hiding his face. He sweeps the garment around his shoulders and fastens it closed, then leaves the tent.

He doesn’t so much as consider taking his crown along. It is left sitting on his command table, dull bronze glowing in the firelight.

Leaving the camp is easily managed. Many of his army’s defenses lie beyond the city walls, a first line of defense for the general populous, while his own tent is placed just barely inside the gates. He orders Gadreel not to allow anyone into his tent in his absence, then takes a lesser-known path out through the city, avoiding any and all curious eyes. The sun dips below the tree line as he enters the forest, casting the world in long, murky shadows, and leaving everything sapped of color.

Castiel walks for what feels like a span of hours. The nature of the trek, the uncertainties which lie both ahead of and behind him, the stresses which have plagued him since he met Dean (or, since his parents died, if he is being honest)—it all makes for a seemingly-endless journey, his thoughts twisting in too many circles for it to pass in any other way.

But the forest is not endless, and the hill Castiel has to cross is not an impassible boundary. The stream mentioned in the letter is one the king is familiar with; it runs through one of his father’s old hunting grounds. Castiel had played in its cold water as a child. It is only a matter of finding the accompanying cave.

He sees the orange light of a fire first. It’s indistinct through the trees, a vague, flickering shape, but as Castiel draws nearer, the color spectrum stretches into yellows and reds, and the light’s form solidifies into that of a small, stone-lined fire on the bank of the stream. The light doesn’t go far in any given direction, but it does manage to fill the small, hollowed-out section in an adjacent stone cliffside.

Castiel stops a short distance away. A twig snaps beneath his boot as he does, immediately giving away his position.

Dean, seated on a fallen log in the center of the scene, looks up at the sound. Like Castiel, the omega prince is dressed in plain, dark clothing, and also chose to forgo wearing his crown. After having seen it earlier, its absence is remarkably obvious.

They stare at one another for the space of a few heartbeats. The corner of Dean’s mouth ticks up in a smile. “Hey, Cas.”

Castiel cannot help but smile in return. _This_ —this is the Dean he met that day at the cabin. Not the one who stood beside Lucifer and demanded surrender.

The alpha moves toward him, and joins him in sitting on the log. The wood is not wide enough to leave much space between them, yet Dean doesn’t so much as shift to increase that space; it puts more warmth in Castiel’s chest than he could ever admit aloud.

He folds his hands together in his lap and sighs quietly. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean huffs a soft laugh, like he is struck by the mundaneness of their exchange. Castiel would not blame him for such a fact. The silence between them stretches on for a handful of seconds, comfortable but weighted, until Dean turns his face toward him. “So. You forgot to tell me that you’re a _king_.”

Castiel wets his lips, his eyes averted. “And you did not tell me that you are a prince. I believe our roles in this have been equal.”

“Cas… I’m sorry.”

Castiel raises his gaze at that. He takes the opportunity to study Dean, and carefully considers his words before speaking. “I don’t see what you could possibly have to be sorry for.”

Dean scoffs. “I have a _list_ of things.” He begins ticking them off on his fingers. “I should have told you who I was. I should have insisted on going to the capital after you helped me, instead of going home. I should have talked my mother out of making an alliance with Lucifer. I should have—”

“Dean.” Castiel clasps his hands around Dean’s own, stopping the omega’s self-blaming before it can get any more absurd than it already is. It makes Dean stare at him, wide-eyed. “You couldn’t have known. In hindsight, perhaps encouraging you to make up with your mother was not my wisest choice—” Dean huffs a soft laugh, which in turn has Castiel smiling. “—but even then, my advice was genuine, and to regret giving it would be selfish.”

Dean lets out a shuddering breath, and his shoulders slump. The way the firelight dances across his face simultaneously makes him look young and vulnerable, as well as tired beyond his years. “Cas, your entire kingdom is at risk. You have to put _some_ of the blame for that on me. It belongs on my shoulders. You should hate me.”

Castiel squeezes his hands around Dean’s and shakes his head. “There is no blame here, Dean. But regardless, I do not think I have the capacity to hate you, no matter the circumstances.”

Something changes in Dean’s eyes, then, abruptly turning soft. The moment hangs between them, drawn taut like a bowstring, and then Dean twists his hands within Castiel’s to tangle their fingers together and leans forward to press their lips together.

As far as kisses go, there isn’t much to it; Dean’s lips are warm and soft and meld well with Castiel’s own, but it doesn’t last for more than a single, fleeting moment. Just as Dean was the one to initiate the kiss, he is also the one to end it, and pulls back away.

Castiel blinks, too dazed to immediately wrap his mind around what just happened.

Dean drops his gaze, looking sheepish. “Sorry,” he says, mouth still near enough to Castiel’s for the king to be able to _taste_ the word, and it’s so _distracting_. “I had to—”

However that sentence may have been intended to end, Castiel doesn’t find out. He ducks his head down and recaptures Dean’s lips, and once the kiss has been reignited, they take to it like they’ve been doing it for years. Dean melts into Castiel with a muffled whimper, clutching at the alpha’s hands like a lifeline.

Far off in the distance, a horn sounds.

Castiel goes completely still, his blood turning to ice in his veins. He tilts his head down slightly, touching his forehead to Dean’s while they each fight to catch their breath. “That must mean Lucifer is trying something. I have to get back.”

Dean whines faintly in the back of his throat and nuzzles against Castiel’s temple. It cannot last, of course, but for the moment, it feels so pleasant that Castiel lets himself enjoy it instead of going back to his people like he needs to.

“Cas, I can’t…” Dean’s throat clicks when he swallows. “What are we going to do? I’m in an alliance with Lucifer, my mother has arranged for me to wed Abaddon when this is over, I don’t have the power to stop this war—”

Castiel shakes his head. There is a crushing sadness in his chest, weighing on his heart and robbing him of the ability to breathe normally; it is only the promise of a lungful of Dean’s scent which gives him the strength to inhale at all.

As much as he hates it, there is only one way for things to go in the coming hours.

“Make sure my people are not made to suffer any more than is necessary,” he says, both a request and a plea. It’s the one thing which matters to him more than any other. He reaches up to cup a hand around the side of Dean’s face, and presses a final, desperate kiss to the prince’s lips. He needs the courage it provides to be able to make his next request.

“And should the opportunity present itself… Kill me before Lucifer has the chance to. I cannot imagine he has anything good planned for me, and that isn’t an additional insult I need my kingdom to suffer. I would prefer it to be quick.”

Dean’s expression crumples. “ _Cas_ …”

The horn sounds again, two blasts in quick succession sounding out over the forest. No matter how much Castiel might wish he could, he cannot ignore it any longer. He sweeps his thumb across the arch of Dean’s cheek, then stands from their makeshift bench.

The prince makes another attempt. “Cas, you can’t ask me to…” The words get stuck in his throat, but the terror in his eyes gets his objection across just as clearly.

Castiel draws his cloak tighter around himself and drops his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dean.” There’s nothing else to be said on the matter after that, and with his people calling to him, he cannot delay any longer than he already has. He turns and sets off through the trees, leaving Dean’s warmth and the light of the fire behind him. He doesn’t let himself look back.

If he did, he knows he would not have been able to continue walking away.

~

By the time Castiel reenters his camp, his generals are in a panic.

As he is quickly told, the invading forces lit fires all along their front lines, illuminating battle preparations happening in the darkness. Most of what must be happening across the field is veiled by the night, but the small glimpses which can be seen are more than enough to strike worry into his their hearts.

The odds of Lucifer truly starting his attack in the dead of night are slim to none, but as Castiel knows—and as Lucifer no doubt _knows_ he knows—this is not a matter he can take any chances with. If he orders his generals to disregard the motion in the enemy camp, they could strike and catch his army while unprepared; if he treats the threat as imminent, they spend the night wasting their energy, ready for nothing.

No matter what Castiel does, his hands are bound. Lucifer has him just where he wants him.

And so he does what he must, and tells his generals to establish their front line. Now is not the time to call Lucifer’s bluff.

While the necessary preparations are being made, Castiel calls a squire to help him back into his armor. It somehow manages to feel heavier on his shoulders than it did the last time he donned it, mere hours previously.

He suspects that is because this time, he is more certain that he is going to die within the confines of metal and chain mail and leather.

He hopes that, when it comes down to it, Dean will be able to follow through.

Once he is suited for battle, Castiel joins the defensive line that is taking form ahead of his camp. Every member of the army has been called to action, each man and woman preparing to do what they must, despite the unfortunate hour. From what he gathers during his walk, both from advisers chirping in his ear and soldiers bold enough to call out to him as he passes, the divide in his forces is nearly even.

Half of them want to call Lucifer on his bluff, and strike to claim first blood. The other half is of the belief that attacking would be a fool’s move, designed to lure them into the omega king’s trap.

Deciding between the two is not something Castiel is eager to do, yet when he reaches the edge of the moonlit battlefield, generals and captains and pages watching his every breath, he knows that he has to.

He won’t risk his army on a field that they cannot see. But he cannot let them sit idle while Lucifer could be forming an ambush. There is no outcome that guarantees success or preserves the lives of his soldiers, so in the end, his final decision does not solely come down to either factor.

He cannot lead a charge in the dark where he cannot see Dean amongst his foes, and Dean cannot see him.

And so, to half of his army’s displeasure, he gives the order to wait. Much to the other half’s chagrin, he also keeps a fraction of his men stationed and ready at the perimeter, while the remaining ranks are to preserve energy and be ready for sunrise.

It is by no means an ideal solution, but it is the best one he has. If the gods are on their side, they won’t be too exhausted to function, come morning.

As he settles in to wait out the night, he cannot say that his hopes are high. Of course, that does not stop him from taking the vigil onto his own shoulders; the night is long and dark, and the hours are torturously slow to bleed by, but Castiel is resilient, and weathers it all without complaint. The sentries around him rotate out so they can rest, and all the while, the movement visible across the field persists.

Though it seems to take ages, the sun eventually rises, just like always. Castiel’s soldiers are ready when it does; the tension in the camp is too thick for anyone to be willing to waste even a moment of daylight.

The sun slowly climbs toward its apex, making for a morning which would be pleasant, given any other circumstances. It’s bright and warm, and all across the camp, swords are given their final sharpenings, quivers are filled, and prayers are whispered.

Castiel sits at the front line, the dense bronze of his crown weighing heavily on his brow, for as long as he can justify. The army opposite his own is indistinct in the distance, and he cannot tell which of their numbers hailed from Campbell, and which from Gehenna. He cannot tell which half he will need to focus his efforts on to pursue a victory, and which fall into save himself from Lucifer’s sword.

It is only when his generals ask for his input on their battle plan that Castiel is pulled from his ruminations. The strategy he came up with is still one that he has confidence in, and he does what is necessary to help his generals set it in motion. If they can successfully coordinate their cavalry with their artillery, and take advantage of the terrain to flank the invading forces…

It can happen. The odds are slim, but it can _happen_.

Eventually, every possible preparation has been made, and there is nothing else to delay the inevitable. Castiel leads his forces into position, and by the time they are properly assembled, the armies across the field have established themselves as a near-perfect mirror.

Hopefully, his own army’s signs of exhaustion are not too visible, even given the direct comparison. Maybe Dean and Lucifer’s armies hold a slightly tighter formation than his own, maybe some of his archers’ bow arms are not entirely steady, but overall, they are not as defeated as Lucifer surely wanted them to be.

Castiel rubs a knuckle into his eye and stifles a yawn. He makes a mental correction.

_Most of them_ are not as defeated as Lucifer wanted them to be.

But if his own exhaustion means that his people are ready to face the day, then he wouldn’t wish it any different.

Unlike the previous morning, Castiel has no intention of attempting to meet with his foes today—he has nothing to say to Lucifer, and he doesn’t think he has the heart to see Dean again. Not when they have already had their kiss goodbye.

And yet, in a turn of events which only serves to make Castiel feel even more tired than he already is, the king of Gehenna and the prince of Campbell are the first to ride out to the center of the field. Their armies wait not far behind them, making it incredibly clear that they are not to be ignored.

Without an alternative available to him, Castiel follows suit, and rides out to meet them. His top general, Hannah, accompanies him in a show of support. Two against two is a much better than two against one, and he thinks it may be good for her to experience Lucifer first-hand—she is, after all, the first in line to assume control of Eden’s army if Castiel is struck down. 

Each of them dismounts from their horses a few paces back from the center of the field and walk the remaining distance. Three crowns, each of distinctly different styles, meeting for the first and only time. Castiel’s alpha crown abruptly feels inadequate.

Castiel glances at Dean only once, and his heart constricts painfully when he sees the distant, detached look on the prince’s face. It’s exactly the kind of look he didn’t want to have to see.

Lucifer, unsurprisingly, doesn’t hold back for even a moment before sneering at them.

“Looking a little rough around the edges, your majesty,” the omega king says. “How did you sleep last night?”

A faint growl starts up in Hannah’s chest; Castiel silences her with a sharp look. “My previous offer is still valid, Lucifer,” he says, disregarding Lucifer’s taunt. “Stop this plight of yours before it is too late.”

“This _plight_?” Lucifer snorts an unattractive laugh. “I am going to destroy you and everyone you have ever known, Castiel, and you know what? I am going to have _fun_ while I do so. I’m looking forward to having your blood on my hands.”

This time, Hannah’s growl is concealed by another omega’s; Dean directs a venomous glare at Lucifer, his teeth bared in a snarl. “Your bloodlust isn’t our priority, Lucifer. Maybe you should consider what is being offered.”

Lucifer is slow to turn toward Dean, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t believe you were asked, Dean. Know your place.”

As Castiel watches, Dean shrinks back, cowed by Lucifer’s reprimanding. They may not know each other all that well, but Castiel still knows that it isn’t in-character for Dean. It makes him loathe Lucifer even more than he already did.

He wouldn’t have thought it possible.

Lucifer smirks, pleased with his successful show of power, and turns back to Castiel and Hannah. He flicks a finger toward the general and says, “I’ll kill _you_ after I’ve killed your false king. Or would killing you first be a better way to send him into a tailspin?”

“ _Lucifer_ ,” Castiel snaps, cutting him off before he can push Hannah too far. Thankfully, his general is smart enough to take advantage of the distraction and take a step back; she doesn’t need to remain in Lucifer’s focus any longer, not when there is clearly nothing good to come of it. “I believe we are through with this. I did not come out here to be _taunted_ —”

“No,” the other king agrees, “you came out here because you know you want to surrender. You can’t fight me, Castiel. You aren’t worthy of leading these people, and deep down, you know that.” Lucifer leans forward, looking smug as he delivers his penultimate insult. “You’re nothing more than a knot, made to make children and hold a sword.”

Castiel growls, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He’s coiled tight, infuriated enough by the barb to nearly be ready to strike—but he never has the chance.

Dean, standing just far enough behind Lucifer to be out of his line of sight, wraps his fingers around a small dagger sheathed at his hip, and lunges forward. The dagger easily finds a chink in Lucifer’s black armor and sinks into flesh without resistance. Lucifer cries out in both pain and outrage, but his attempt to turn toward his attacker is stopped by an iron grip around his throat.

“You never learned to shut up, did you?” Dean snarls in his face. Lucifer bares his teeth and looks ready to make a comeback, but Dean twists the dagger in his side before the omega king can get a single word out, driving it in even further. When he withdraws it, the short blade drips with blood, and Lucifer collapses to the ground.

Suddenly, Castiel no longer feels tired.

He stares at Dean, eyes wide as he struggles to comprehend what he just witnessed. If Lucifer is not entirely dead, he will be soon enough, and _Dean_ —Dean looks up at Castiel, his jaw clenched and his eyes as cold as steel. Despite the severity of the situation, the prince’s mouth turns up into a lopsided smile, and for a brief moment, nothing else in the world seems to matter.

And then two things happen at once.

First, beside him, Hannah says dazedly, “What have you done?” And in the distance, a woman screams, and begins to charge toward them.

A quick look of panic flits across Dean’s features, as if he only just realized the implications of his actions. “Cas—”

Hannah grabs Castiel by his elbow. “My king, we cannot remain here. We need to return to our horses before this becomes a bloodbath.”

Castiel nods and lets himself be pulled away, though he still cannot tear his eyes from Dean. Both Gehenna’s and Campbell’s armies are beginning to riot and turn on one another, now that one leader has killed the other, and Dean is soon going to be at the epicenter of it all. He took the brunt of it so that Castiel would not have to.

Castiel pulls his arm from his general’s grasp. “Hannah, give the signal. We have a new alliance with Campbell; Gehenna is our only threat. Dean Winchester is to be protected.”

Hannah doesn’t bother to hide her shock at the order, but ultimately, she does her duty and tips her head in a bow. She then runs back to her horse, swings up onto its saddle, and races back toward their front line to pass on the new instructions.

Dean tries again, more harried than last time. “Cas, I—there was nothing else I could do, I wasn’t going to—”

Castiel is quick to close the short distance between them. He grabs Dean by the front of his armor and pulls him in so their lips can meet. It only lasts for an instant, and is nothing like their kissing from the previous night, but it’s the most effective way he can think of showing his support. When he releases Dean, the omega prince looks stunned.

“After we get through this, we’re having a conversation,” Castiel tells him, then there’s no time to say anything more. The woman who had screamed when Lucifer fell finally reaches them, her sword drawn and madness in her eyes. Dean reaches for his sword, but Castiel beats him to it, and steps in to meet the opposing alpha’s blade with his own.

The sound of steel meeting steel is deafening, and though Dean’s army is already fighting Lucifer’s, it’s only at this first strike that the battle seems to truly begin. Castiel’s army launches into their attack, while bands of soldiers from Campbell and Gehenna rush out toward the center of the field to assist their leaders. The red-clad alpha Castiel is now fighting snarls and launches a flurry of attacks, each of which Castiel blocks with practiced ease. Dean finally manages to draw his own sword, but by the time he does, they are no longer alone in the center of the field.

“Cas—”

“ _Go_.”

They don’t need anything more than that; Dean splits off to fight someone else from Gehenna that Castiel cannot see, and Castiel redoubles his efforts in his own fight. His opponent is still in a blind rage, and though that makes her tiring to fight, it also makes her imprecise. She relies on brute force and relentless strength, but no matter how infuriated she is by Lucifer’s death, it isn’t a strategy which can last.

Their swords clash again and again, a battle of wills at the eye of the storm. There are soldiers fighting all around them, Eden and Campbell banding together against Gehenna, but somehow, despite it all, Castiel’s battle against the alpha from Gehenna goes uninterrupted. At least, until a nearby soldier clad in Gehenna’s colors falls, his sword cast too close to his leader and unexpectedly blocking her path when she attempts to make a lunge at Castiel.

She only stumbles for an instant, but that single instant is all Castiel needs to seize the advantage. In the space of a single heartbeat, the other alpha’s sword gets knocked away, a kick to her knee sends her to the dirt, and Castiel’s sword finds its way to her throat.

Despite the whirlwind of a battle closing in on all sides, the moment seems to hang in the air, stretching on for longer than it should.

The alpha’s nostrils flare. “I hope you are happy with this stolen victory,” she spits, still nothing but fire and rage. “Gehenna will not forget this. Eden and Campbell will _pay_.”

Castiel tilts his head. “Gehenna is no more,” he retorts.

It takes only a single flick of his sword for him to end the woman’s life.

After the alpha’s death, Gehenna’s army fractures. While many fight to the death for their cause, many throw their weapons down in surrender. Overall, the entire battle scarcely lasts more than a few hours. When the fighting is over, Castiel’s generals work with those from Campbell to secure their new prisoners from Gehenna. Castiel doesn’t have the slightest idea what to do with them, but he trusts they will be sorted out appropriately.

There is a lot to be done in the aftermath, and many messes to be cleaned up, but while the sun is still shining, Castiel finds it difficult to worry about the details. Because the day is still bright, the battle is over, and he’s _alive_. Castiel turns his face up to the sky and lets his eyes fall closed, giving into the exhaustion which is once again making itself known in his bones and quietly reveling in his survival.

“Enjoying yourself, your majesty?”

Castiel blinks his eyes back open and smiles at Dean. “I am, as a matter of fact. My day turned out to be surprisingly non-lethal, you’ll have to forgive me for celebrating that fact.”

Dean’s answering grin is blinding. “I won’t fault you for that. Should I apologize for throwing your plans off their course? Or did it go well enough that I can be forgiven?”

Castiel chuckles. “I think you can be forgiven,” he concedes. No matter how much he wants to bask, however, there is a matter at hand which is too serious to ignore. His good humor fades. “Your mother isn’t going to be pleased by the choice you made. It won’t reflect well on Campbell.”

“I… Yes.” Dean reaches up to shift his crown, a gesture which seems to be a show of nervousness. “My mother is undoubtedly going to be upset. But, frankly, I’m not too concerned about what she thinks. She thought it was in our best interest to join Lucifer in the first place, and pledged me to mate with Abaddon without my permission. If those are the values she believes in, she is not the leader Campbell needs, and I am prepared to relieve her of her duty.”

“You have put a lot of thought into this,” the king comments. He had not expected Dean to have such an answer prepared, especially after having witnessed the omega’s uncertainty over defying his mother by not supporting the fight against Eden, back before it began. “Are you sure that that is what you want? Even if you take control of Campbell, that will not change the damage you have potentially done to your reputation.”

“It’s what I want,” Dean assures. “It’s what I _need_ to do. It’s best for Campbell. And as for my reputation…” The omega gives him a shy smile. “I have an idea for a way to save both of our necks. If you’re willing.”

Castiel isn’t very concerned with his own situation at the moment, but if there is something he can do to help Dean— “Anything.”

A slow grin stretches across Dean’s lips. He pitches his idea as if it’s the easiest thing, the natural conclusion to the events which have passed. At first, it seems crazy, but the more Castiel thinks about it, the more convinced he becomes that it is actually _wonderful_. When he agrees, he does so happily.

 

 

 

**One Year Later**

 

Castiel wakes slowly, stirred only by the sunlight falling over him from the skylight set in the ceiling. He stretches languidly, but otherwise makes no move to act on his newly-awake state. He is in no rush to leave the warm sheets which envelop him.

He doesn’t let himself sleep in nearly often enough. Usually that is because of the numerous responsibilities he is expected to juggle while at home, but so long as he is _here_ , away from it all at his father’s cabin…

He can bask.

As if summoned by Castiel’s decision to be lazy, Dean chooses that moment to reenter the room. The omega makes a beeline for the bed and crawls on top of Castiel’s body, pinning him down. “Hey. Sleepy-head.”

Castiel cracks a single eye open, and though he makes an effort to appear disgruntled, he’s fairly sure that he fails spectacularly. “Can I help you?”

Dean grins. “Yes, actually. I made breakfast, and your daughter needs your attention.”

And just like that, Castiel is fully awake. He sits upright, moving Dean to be sitting in his lap instead of simply hovering over him, and wraps his arms around his mate’s waist. “You should have started with that,” he says. He leans in to press his smile into Dean’s, then quickly rolls them both over to deposit Dean on the mattress. He takes advantage of the position to kiss Dean once more, then slips out of the bed.

“Hey!” Dean protests on a laugh. “You didn’t have to leave _that_ fast, come on, Cas!”

Castiel tugs on a clean tunic and flashes Dean a grin. “I have a pup to tend to. Sorry, love.”

Dean groans and flops back onto the bed. “This is the alpha I married,” he complains as Castiel leaves, which earns him a warm chuckle in return.

He finds their daughter in a bassinet in the cabin’s front room, gurgling to herself and chewing on her fist. Castiel reaches in to pick her up, and she gives him a gummy smile.

“Good morning, princess,” he coos, tucking her in against his chest. The nickname isn’t one he was certain of at first—the accuracy very nearly detracts from the intended endearment of it, because she _is_ a princess—but the look in Dean’s eyes when he first said it to the blanketed bundle that was their newborn pup was more than enough to persuade him.

He is, as Hannah has told him, whipped.

After the attempted invasion of Eden, Dean came under a lot of heat, as could only have been expected. His army was angry with him for so drastically changing his plan without warning, while his mother and many of Campbell’s citizens were infuriated by the redirection itself, having wanted Eden to be overtaken more than they wanted Gehenna destroyed. Castiel stood with him through it all, of course, and did everything he could to deflect the outrage being directed in both of their directions.

The announcement of their union served as a perfect distraction from it all.

By joining their kingdoms, Dean’s betrayal of his alliance with Gehenna became easy to forgive. Campbell’s citizens were assuaged by their crown prince’s new opportunity for leadership in Eden, and with the strength of Eden at his back, Dean was able to speak his mind with his mother without fear of being punished. Mary was not pleased by what her son had to say, but with pressure from him and his growing band of supporters (the omega who won them the land that was once Gehenna and also secured Eden is guaranteed to be popular, in the political field), she agreed that she had been in the wrong to align with Lucifer, and resigned from her seat of power.

Of course, that only put more stress on Dean’s shoulders—despite now being Eden’s omega king, Dean is also expected to manage Campbell from afar, until the time comes when his younger brother comes of age and can rule in his own right. Seeing as that is a few years out, however, Dean and Castiel both have a lot of work waiting ahead of them.

Luckily, that does not impede their ability to have a good, happy relationship. Dean may have suggested it for its political benefits, but the day they mated was the best day of Castiel’s life. As it turns out, they were destined to love one another from the day they met.

Balancing two kingdoms has not affected their ability to have a family together, either. Mating with Dean may have been the best day of Castiel’s life, but the day their daughter was born, nine months after?

Castiel did not think it was possible to love another human being as much as he loves Dean, but Claire is a definite rival for that affection.

Dean likes to tease him that it’s his alpha instincts finally being allowed an outlet, but whether it is or not, Castiel doesn’t care. Alpha instinct, parental instinct, a love for his family—Castiel is happy, and that is what matters.

Claire makes a happy sound, which serves to pull Castiel out of his thoughts. He runs his finger over the soft tuft of hair at the top of her head, and when he looks up, Dean is standing in front of him. His omega smiles, soft and sweet, and reaches beneath their daughter to tangle his fingers in Castiel’s tunic. “You okay, baby?”

“Yes,” the alpha says. The answer isn’t one he has to think about. He feels it in the core of his being, and knows for a fact that it won’t be changing any time soon. He has his kingdom. He has Dean. They have so much ahead of them. “I love you, so very much.”

He shifts Claire in his arms and kisses his mate once more. The small amount of worry that had been creasing Dean’s brow dissipates, and he steps in close, huddling in against his mate and his pup. “I love you too,” Dean says. It all adds to the perfection of the morning, and Castiel could not imagine having it any other way.

Through the cabin’s front window, the lake shines bright and blue, vibrant in the sunlight. It’s a beautiful day, the first of many on this vacation they have set aside for themselves, and Castiel’s heart is full.

If his mother could see him now, he thinks she would be proud of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://thursdays-fallen-angel.tumblr.com/)!


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